


ViRaL

by DesertRose07



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Action, Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Alternate Universe - Zombies, Corruption, F/M, Leadership, Mystery, Power Dynamics, Psychological Horror, Psychological Trauma, Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive, Science Fiction, Survival, Thriller, Zombie Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-31
Updated: 2014-06-02
Packaged: 2018-01-27 19:33:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1720076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DesertRose07/pseuds/DesertRose07
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An experiment at a top-secret Yagiri research facility has gone awry, unleashing the bloody vengeance of the undead on the unsuspecting citizens of Ikebukuro. You must team up with a wily informant, an angry berserker and the golden trio to take down Yagiri Pharmaceuticals for good and stop the viral outbreak before the zombie hordes overrun the world!</p>
<p>Izaya Orihara x Reader x Shizuo Heiwajima</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In T Minus Ten

  
**Kanra**  has entered the chatroom.

**Kanra** :  _So have you all heard? The missing immigrants case has gone completely cold! The police are at a loss for what to do! It's like they just... disappeared... not a trace of those bodies to be found..._

**Taro Tanaka** :  _WHAT!? That's horrible?!_

**Kanra** :  _Mhmmmmm how creepy is that, lol?_

**Setton** :  _Why are you always so morbid?!_

**Kanra** :  _No, no, no not morbid, lol! I Just want my besties to be aware when they're out and about! If you're not careful, they might nab you by accident :)_

**Setton** :  _"Besties?"_

**Kanra** has left the chatroom. 

A soft breeze washes over the street, whirling a few leaves around the curb. It's pleasant out tonight, making the wait in Club de Bokor's mile long line marginally more bearable. Saki dragged you out after hearing their Fright Night Halloween Bash was killer-- evidently, half of Ikebukuro had heard the same thing.

"If they don't hurry up, we're going to enter and they'll be left out in huge cold!" You insist to Saki. She's bouncing on her toes wearing a sheer white dress—if it was long enough to qualify—cut dangerously low with white sliver pumps. Shimmering, feathery wings sprout from her back, fluttering with the slightest breeze, and a silver halo hovers delicately atop her head.

You peek down at your Flo the Progressive Insurance Girl costume, feeling the slightest bit self-conscious. The line is brimming with voluptuous succubi and not-so-innocent schoolgirls. The market price for cloth must be expensive these days, you think. They spare you glances that suggest you are sorely out of place, a Raggedy Ann among Barbies. Screw it-- you would blind them with your can-I-help-you smile and irritate them with your corny car puns. 

"Relax, they'll be here. They're just going on Kida Standard Time! Besides nurses are supposed to be  **patient** \-- geddit?" Saki giggles, struggling to peer at the interior from behind the hulking bouncer.

"Not a nurse, Flo the Progressive Insurance Girl!" You hiss, affronted.

"Ooh, here he comes!" She says, elbowing you in the ribs. "Quick, how do I look? Kida Masomi is going to pay attention to me if it’s the last thing he does!" Now probably wouldn’t be the best time to inform her Kida had hit on you… repeatedly. And Anri Sonohara. And the hot new twenty-something substitute. And the waitress at Russia Sushi. 

" _Ladiesssss_ ," Kida purrs, sauntering up cane a-twirl in a steampunk vampire costume. He tips his hat to you, bending in a deep bow, before offering a fanged grin. Saki claps in delight, marveling at he detail of his cape. 

The prospect of falling to third wheel status rears it's ugly head. Inwardly, you groan. "What happened to Mikado and Anri?" 

"Couldn't make it," Kida answers with a pout. "Mikado's prepping for finals and Anri has a paper due. Cool nurse costume though."

**"FLO THE PROGRESSIVE INSURANCE GIRL!!!!"**

You shoot Saki a withering look from over Kida's billowing cape. Third wheel status confirmed. She is saved when the Bouncer orders your group to enter, sweeping you in under the velvet rope with a big, meaty hand.

Purple, red, and green lights streak around the room, as shadows play across the walls. Strobe lights flash chaotically, throbbing in beat to the deafening music. You are beginning to see how stupid things happened—how easy it was to get lost in the dark, passionate night-- 

“Ahh, Flo the Insurance girl, hmm?” someone purrs from behind you. 

“You were the first person that actually got that!” you exclaim, laughing. Whirling around, you find piercing carmine eyes monitoring your every move. The stranger is surprisingly close to you; so close, you can feel his hot breath wash down your neck. Your trepidation at his proximity must show, because he smirks devilishly. 

“Well you can service me anytime,” he invites, nibbling the cuff of your ear. His directness—and ministrations— paralyze you; your breath hitches in your throat. How can he be so loose with someone he has never seen before? Crap, crap, crap this is exactly why you hate being roped into Saki and Kida's shenanigans. Bracing your hands on his chest, you shove him as hard as you can; he hardly moves an inch. In response, he digs his nails into your flesh, pulling you so tightly into his chest you swear you are suffocating. 

“Good thing you didn’t need to waste money on a costume Izaya—you came as a jackass,” someone snaps. One vampiric Kida Masomi glares daggers into this man, this Izaya, with Saki right at his heels. The blonde is clenching his fists so hard that, even in the murky air of the club, you see his knuckles turning a blinding white. Saki clutches his arm tightly, but eyes fixed on you. 

“You alright?” she mouths from behind him.

You give your head a slight incline in affirmation, never letting your attention stray from Izaya. Speaking of which, he is looking mighty pleased, considering the circumstances. Rather than vehemently deny Kida’s accusations, Izaya basks in their glory.

“This party wouldn’t be the same without a crasher, now would it?” he says, voice soft and smoky, as he releases you. 

Saki darts to catch you as you stumble backwards, cradling you in her arms. 

“Kida, it’s okay, let’s just go,” you mutter under your breath, avoiding Saki’s questioning glance.

If Kida hears you, he doesn't show it. “Of course not, it got worse because of you. The air reeks of self-righteous bastard! Leave Saki and _________ alone!” Kida growls. 

“But if I left them alone,” Izaya says innocently, “there would be no one left to protect them. Unless, of course, Saki has faith in your track record?”

One well-placed comment is all it takes to put Kida out like a candle flame. He blanches, gripping his stomach as though nauseous, and storms away. Saki shoots you an apologetic glance and bolts after him.

“Well,” starts Izaya as he redirects his attention to you, “parting is such sweet sorrow. The brat was right about one thing though—this party bites. It’s been fun—“

"But we haven't had a proper introduction..." he hisses in your ear. "Guess I'll need something to remember you by!"

With that, he rips off your blue jacket and dashes away.

"Hey!" you shriek indignantly. Following suit, you race madly after Izaya as he weaves expertly through the undulating crowds. That kind of speed takes training, you muse, most likely as a pickpocket. Much to the bouncer's chagrin, the two of you explode out of Club de Bokor like a pair of crazed preschoolers taking a game of tag way too seriously. His threats against coming back fall on deaf ears, however, as Izaya baits you with your jacket.

"Toro, toro!" he roars, playing matador. Izaya dangles your jacket in the air, whisking it out of your reach the second you got close. The teasing was  **maddening** , you are nothing more than the dog which can never quite sink its teeth into the bone.

"You know, I think I'll call you little Bull-chan," he muses to himself, wrenching the jacket out of your hands just as you collide with a passerby. 

"I-i'm so sorry, sir!" you stutter out, face flushing. "You see, he won't return my jacket and--"

You fall silent.

"I thought I told you to steer your punk-ass clear of Ikebukuro, rat," snarls Shizuo, shoving you aside to get to Izaya. You realize that you are probably one of the few people who feels relief upon seeing Shizuo Heiwajima. "Now give the nice lady back the jacket because I don't want to stain it with your  **blood**."

"It's all yours," Izaya said pleasantly. He flashes you a smirk before throwing your jacket at Shizuo's face. Swearing loudly, Shizuo struggles to disengage himself, giving Izaya just enough time to disappear around the corner. By the time Shizuo manages to rip the jacket off his face, Izaya has long since fled the scene. 

It was a dirty trick, but it had certainly done the job.

"Hey, you okay?" you ask uncertainly, laying a hand on Shizuo's arm. 

"It was a jacket, not an axe," he replies dryly. "Although I probably could have taken that too."

Suddenly, a chorus of shrieks errupts from within the club. The Bouncer is loudly ordering everyone in the vicinity to stay calm in vain. The line of potential clients before the club vanishes as people tear past you in all directions. Over his bulky shoulder, you think you spot a sort of moving... mass but you can't be sure. What can you be sure of in the night of masks and tricks?

Shizuo leaps to attention with an angry roar.  
"IF THAT PUNK WORMED HIS WAY BACK IN THERE SO HELP ME I'LL--"

"That's impossible, Shizuo," you murmur anxiously, "because he just turned the corner across the street..."

You exchange solemn glances with the bartender, unsure what to do. 

"Shizuo, I think something's wrong--"

"No shit."

"I'm serious," you urge. "Not a fistfight or a danceoff or something stupid; I think something's  **really--** "

The Bouncer's bloodcurdling howl stops you cold; he is digging his fingernails into the doorframe for dear life, as some sort of unseen force is trying to drag him back in. You glance around, desperate for a solution. In less than twenty minutes, the raring night life of Ikebukuro has come to a dead halt; the streets are completely void of life, save for the chaos pounding within Club de Bokor. No beggars, no con artists, no policemen,  ** _nothing._**

"Don't move," Shizuo hisses. "I'll be right back."

The words hardly leave his mouth when the shrieks halt abruptly. 

"What the hell is this?!" Shizuo growls. "What the hell is going on? Some idiotic prank?!"

You are so fixated on the eerily quiet state of Club de Bokor, that the clammy hands wrapping around your neck come as a total surprise.

 

 


	2. In the Dead of the Night

You and Shizuo aren't really  _friends_ , per say–at least not in the traditional sense. 

You have absolutely no idea when his birthday is, you are at a loss for any particularly fond memories with him, and you operate in completely different social circles. Nevertheless, you two seem to cross paths more often than either of your schedules would predict. Once, long ago, you had bumped into him on Sunshine Street–right in front of where that family-owned bakery used to be. Quite frankly, it was hard to the miss pile of bloody, disheveled clothes, heaving with bloodcurdling fury. It wasn’t until it spoke, that you recognized  _it_  as Shizuo.

_”Your father was the only one that could put that flea in his place.”_ he rasped, dragging himself upright. 

The words essentially had the same effect as something detonating in your head–you hadn’t seen your father in, well,  _never_ , because he died in a car accident, and the crumbling photo you kept stashed in a gold locket was hardly a substitute–or so went the story. 

**“What?”**  

You fisted Shizuo’s lapel–what was left of it–and jerked him to you.

“Youknewmyfather?”

It wasn’t until he stretched to his full height, glowering down at you, did you remember precisely  _who_  you were dealing with.

“Don’t know what you’re blabbering about and don’t care,” he grunted. With that, he pushed past you and disappeared into the swirling crowds of Ikebukuro’s nightlife. 

_That_  is what eggs you on, what convinced you to move to downtown Ikebukuro–one simple comment, that, according to Shizuo, had never even been uttered to begin with. His chance remark–if he even said it wasn’t the start of it though. Deep in your heart of hearts, you had always found it curious how there were no photos of your father to be seen aside from the one you kept in your locket. Odd, you thought, that there was no gravesite to visit–“he donated his body to the Ikebukuro Technical Institute for the sake of medical research” your mother supplied, almost too readily. These awkward snippets were the only peculiarities of your otherwise normal life; really, you hadn’t much to complain about. 

It might have well been that you clung to the hunch for wont of excitement in your life, but you didn’t care. It was all consuming, and you wouldn’t stop till you had a conclusive answer sitting nicely in your hands.Asinine, wasn’t it? You knew it was, so of course, you had given your mother a much better explanation for your abrupt relocation, involving attendance at the prestigious Raira Academy. The much coveted 100 seats for each incoming class were furiously jousted for by overachieving middle schoolers; it was a miracle you had managed to appeal to the admittance committee, and one your mother wasn’t about to pass up. 

The day you arrived in Ikebukuro you made a direct beeline for the City Hall; you raked public records, scrambling for the slightest hint to dispute your father’s death. Ever since that one surreal encounter, Shizuo hadn’t dropped another word. In fact, even you had to admit, the shadows cast by doubt were starting to crumble your resolve. After all, even your own family wouldn’t permit inquiry into the case–he  _died_  and that was that… but something in Shizuo’s knowing glances and grim smiles made you wonder… 

Regardless, never in your life had you been as thankful to have Shizuo by your side as now. 

It isn't until a guttural hissing reaches your ears that you realize you are being dragged backwards into the dark, decrepit back alleys of Ikebukuro. 

Then everything plays in front of you like a slow-motion film.

Whipping around, you manage to steal a peek at your prankster–

and choke. 

Aashen, flaking skin clings limply to her skull. Gums black as tar, interspersed with what could only be called fangs. Eyes like glass; glazed, unfeeling, and perfectly still, sunken into the socket. If eyes were the windows to the soul…

_This girl didn’t have one_.

Her grip on your neck turns vicelike, serrated teeth inching ever closer. Thrashing wildly, you manage to drive your elbow into her solar plexus, meant to knock out her breath and buy you time–you might as well have tickled her. Precious seconds tick by as you beat your fists against her thighs, shrieking. Those fangs were a hair’s breadth above your scruff now–you had nowhere left to run–

There was a sickening  _squish_  of splitting flesh, a hellish scream, and a blur of motion. 

The roundhouse had wrenched the skin clean off her face, leaving her sprawled against a dumpster about twenty feet ahead. 

“Bitch ain’t moaning now,” Shizuo snarls. “Crap she tore up my bowtie-- third suit this month. I oughta pulverize that little crackhead–“

Shizuo comes to a dead halt, bewilderedly staring at his bloodied knuckles.

“The hell?” he whispers hoarsely. “Her blood is all–“

Neither of you have a chance to dwell on it; a spine-chilling howl echoes from the depths of the alleys. 

That’s when they come. Thundering out of the alley, thousands at a time, they topple over each other as they vie to sink their teeth into you. 

Shizuo snaps to attention, cursing at the “Saika” derivatives with colorful fury.

“Get the hell out of here,” he commands. Fisting the metal bar of a yield sign, he rips it clean out of the cement and proceeds to use the “Saikas” for golf practice. 

So engrossed in fending off the onslaught, he fails to notice the racket is drawing countless more of  _them_  to the scene. It is only a matter of time before you two would be completely surrounded. Heart pounding, you give the area a sweeping glance once more. No,  _no_  these are certainly  **not**  Saika clones. No media outlet had ever mentioned the “Saikas” looking so…

**Dead.**

Sidestepping, you narrowly miss one of them. You are back to back with Shizuo now, the radius of the circle they formed around you growing ever smaller. 

“We need to leave!” you cry out. “We stay, we die!”

They are clawing out you with more fervor, as if  _savoring_  the prospect of prey.

“I  _told_  you to run while you had the chance!” he retorts, spearing through the mob. 

It is becoming painfully obvious that even Shizuo’s strength would do you no good against the assault; for every one of them he takes out in a blow, four more crop up. His mulish pride is going to be the death of both of you. There is only one way to get him to move.

“SHIZUO!” you shriek hysterically, clutching to his bartender’s vest. “You’re wasting time! What if they’ve gotten to KASUKA?!” 

His brother’s name is all it takes. With a mighty roar, Shizuo sweeps at least a dozen of them out of the way, effectively clearing an escape route. 

“GET THE HELL OUT OF MY WAY!” he bellows, bulldozing through the hellish mob with massive sweeps of his improvised weapon. Sneakers pounding on the asphalt, you scramble to keep up with him. Each step brings the worry that one of _them_  would cut you off from Shizuo, leaving you to die screaming as the mob tore you apart. Your world melts into a blur; all you can think of is keeping the black bartender vest in your vision. They close in behind you like monsoon waves, outstretched jaws missing your limbs by seconds. 

Ikebukuro’s labyrinthine streets are made more perplexing by the shadows of the night. You had lost your bearings ages ago but you don't dare waste precious breath on asking Shizuo where you are. Your heart throbs so violently in your rib cage you swear you can hear the blood pumping in your veins. 

It isn't until you slam into Shizuo’s back do you realize that he had stopped moving. 

“MOVE!” he orders, wrenching you behind him by the scruff of your neck and closing the door. Shizuo sets to work fortifying it by hauling furniture pieces into a small mountain behind it. 

A sweeping glance tell you that you had found refuge in a restaurant. Tables are overturned and chairs are scattered around the room. Broken glass, shattered dishes and dirty silverware litter the floor, giving the impression the place had been the scene of a ballistic attack rather than a once vibrant eatery in Ikebukuro’s night life. What piques your attention, however, is the pitch silence; the building must have been abandoned in the chaos. It is then that you notice the lights are off; is it possible there are survivors here who had turned it off in order to deter  _them_?

You rule the possibility out–no survivors would have left the door wide open. Inching forward, you make your way to what must have been the takeout counter, avoiding shards of porcelain dishes and wine glasses like mines. Some animal instinct of yours is urging you to be deathly quiet. 

The cash register lays on its side, gaping open as crisp bills flutter to the floor. Menus and napkins are scattered beneath the table like shrapnel. Crouching, you leaf through a catering menu, finding meals labeled in Japanese, Russian and English. 

So this must be the “Russia Sushi” Kida was so fond of, you conclude. Saki had promised to take you, at one point, only after assuring Kida she wouldn’t let you cross someone named Simon. A wave of nausea hits you hard. Goosebumps ripple across your flesh. You feel strangely hollow at the thought of Saki and Kida, their images burning into your mind’s eye. What you wouldn't give to be their little Third Wheel now, to know they were alive and safe. It is simply human nature to wonder if they had gotten out alive, but if the bouncer, a man three times their size had–You refusedto wonder about their whereabouts any longer, lest you meet an unbearable truth. 

It is then you catch a dark blotch on the edge of the menu. Squinting, you struggle to make out its color in the dark of the restaurant to no avail. You lift the page to a lone shaft of moonlight, filtering in through a cracked window.

_Red_. Dark Red. 

Your heart skips a beat.

**_CRUNCH_ **

Adrenaline shoots through you. You leap to your feet, throwing your back against the countertop and bracing yourself to face whatever terror–

A crystal Russian tea set lays trampled beneath Shizuo’s feet; the silence of the restaurant had amplified the sound. His amber eyes are hard.

“I was supposed to meet him here tonight,” Shizuo informs you accusingly, as though you were withholding the answer. “I was on my way here when I bumped into him. 

Your first impulse is to frantically shush him, earning you an indignant glare from Shizuo. Stomach knotting uncomfortably, you are starting to succumb to a creeping dread. Something is amiss;  _you can feel it_. You two need to get out of here, out of Ikebukuro. He wouldn't possibly agree to leave his beloved city, you figured, more so without his brother. But it  _has_  to be done. You have to make it to a train station, a car,  **something** \--

Shizuo is stubbornly demanding answers, voice escalating ever higher as he ignores your frenzied pleas to escape. Fisting his collar, you yank him down so his eyes are level with yours. His shock at your boldness gives you enough time to squeak out one sentence.

A heart-stopping roar erupts from deep within the kitchen. There is a loud crash from behind you as the creature bursts into the restaurant's foyer. Shizuo jaw slackens and your grip on his collar falters. Reflected in the window behind him is the largest man you had ever seen; the butcher knives spinning in his hands glint in the ethreal moonlight. 

_”It’s not safe here!"_

Timing never was your strong point. 

 

 


	3. In a Bear Hug

Another terrible roar rips through the foyer. The beast lunges over the counter towards you with all the power of an avalanche.   
  
A force on your back and suddenly your world is spinning. You are vaguely cognizant that you are no longer standing. Your spatial awareness ends there, all other senses are drowned out by a throbbing headache.   
  
 _"You dumb? Get up!!"_  
  
You feel slow, oh so slow, like you're plugged up with cotton. Groping idly around, you discover that you're sitting in sand... no wait, dirt.   
  
 _"I SAID MOVE, DAMNIT!"_  
  
A peculiar wetness tickles your neck. You swipe at it with a hand, bringing up a rusty smear.  
  
The sight of blood breaks you out of your stupor, sending you scrambling to your feet. Almost instantly, you stagger back as the blood rushes to your head. You must have hit your head and blacked out when Shizuo shoved you out of the way, and into the planter. All about soft touches, that one.  
  
By some miracle, Shizuo has managed to knock the knives out of its grip and is now grappling with it in the center of the room. He's raining blow after blow against it, fists slamming against the monster as rapidly and consistently as heartbeats. Shizuo might as well be using a feather-duster, because the thing doesn't seem to take much notice.   
  
In between the flurry of punches, you manage to study the thing in detail for the first time. Bear-zombie-- that is the politically correct term-- is a hulking menace, broad shouldered and barrel-chested. Blistering pustules spiral down arms as big as tree trunks. In place of eyes are black, hollowed out pits, as dark as dead coals.   
  
And they turn to look straight at  _you_. Noticing this, Shizuo ups his assault, arms pumping so fast you feel exhausted just looking at him. His bartender uniform is peppered with tears, the open patches of fabric revealing bruises. The fight in the streets winded him, and you're terrified to admit that you don't know how much more Shizuo can take. The idea of the blonde juggernaut actually having a physical limit seems ridiculous; no, he's meant to be like the Dynamo Bunny, beating and beating and beating with no end in sight.   
  
Bear-zombie bats away Shizuo's arms before sinking its fist straight into Shizuo's chest. The wind is torn out of Shizuo's lungs with an audible  _whoosh_ ;he stumbles, but manages to jerk away just in time to dodge the follow-up fist.  
  
Well, crap. Street fighting tactics aren't going to work against an abnormal one. If that is Shizuo's only stratagem than you two will be off to meet your Maker in a matter of minutes, smelling like raw fish and zombies.  
  
All the while, you stand rather usefully in the corner of the room. Hands trembling, you rake your mind for something to do. You're not much good at close combat, probably more of a liability than actual help. Sneakers flying over debris and shards, you dash into the kitchen Bear-zombie emerged from. Fires are crackling in the corners, just starting to gain fuel.   
  
A loud  _CRASH_  makes the building shudder and glass comes raining down. Whirling around, you find a beat-up van sitting atop what was once an intricate window display. The door is thrown back and never have you been so happy to see the nauseating couple.  
  
"GET IN!" Kida yells, hand outstretched. Saki's profile is to you; she's exchanging words you can't hear with whoever is at the helm.  
  
"Hear that?!" You exclaim, cupping your hands to amplify the sound. "Leave him Shizuo! We're ditching this joint!" You throw a stool at Bear-zombie for good measure.  
  
"Go ahead," Shizuo calls out, hauling up a nearby table and smashing it into his adversary. Bear-zombie takes offense to this, unleashing a mighty roar. An angry  _HONK_  echoes through the foyer as Saki pleads with whoever is in front.   
  
"___________, let's go!" Kida yells, beckoning you frantically.  
  
"Hurry up!" Kadota barks from the passenger seat. "Ikebukuro gets quarantined in an hour. Whoever's in,  _stays_  in. Now, you coming or not?"  
  
Shizuo, of course, chooses now of all times to hold a grudge and Bear-zombie of all targets. "Get a move on, they're not gonna wait forever."  
  
"Shizuo," you implore, "Come on! Set aside your macho pride for once--"  
  
"N-not leaving without...  _KASUKA_!" Shizuo screams, driving his shoulder into Bear-zombie.  
  
"Leave him!" Saki shrieks to you. You know what you have to do. Dashing towards the van, you take Kida's hand.  
  
"Thank you so much," you murmur, "for saving my life. But you guys should go. Don't let us hold you back."  
  
You pull Kida in for a quick hug, shoot a sad little smile at Saki and dart back into the kitchen before they can protest. The fires have swollen, pumping smoke into the room. Eyes watering, you stumble over the rubble, scanning your options. A piece of metal snags your pant hem and you go down, crashing atop a pile of stove burners.   
  
 _Stove burners...?_  
  
"Get up, get up!" Kida orders, swooping you off the ground. You have no time to appreciate his timely appearance as you hold the stove burner in your hands, regarding it ike it holds all the answers to the universe.   
  
"Kida, help me get the propane tank! Quickly!"  
  
The two of you press deeper into the now blazing kitchen. Smoke fills you to your core, but you don't relent until you reach the the reserve tanks. Wrapping your hands about the metal neck protecting the valve, you and Kida drag it out.  
  
"Little early to be looting, dontcha think?" Kida coughs out.  
  
You snatch a butcher knife off the counter. "C-compressed gas tank," you wheeze, "plus heat plus puncture equals rocket."  
  
Kida looks at you as though you have just sprouted another head (which is entirely possible, given the circumstances). Despite the horrors surrounding you, you flush with pride at his blatant awe. You're a girl of simple tastes.  
  
" **CRAP!** " Kida exclaims, eyes wide as saucers, and then it occurs to you that his shock was not meant for  _you_. Shizuo is wavering like a shaky pendulum, staggering left and right. Bear-zombie is now the one raining heavy blows. The thing is just as fast as it is strong. With dodging no longer an option, Shizuo is doing his darnedest to block the bombardment.   
  
You and Kida struggle to set the tank in position.   
  
It's some spilt sake that gets to him, sending Shizuo's legs flying out from under him, arms pinwheeling.   
  
Down he goes.   
  
You choke, dropping the butcher knife. Kida rescues it, delivering  _thwack_  after inconsequential  _thwack_  to the tank valve.  
  
Bear-zombie dives in for the kill.  
  
You wrench the knife out of Kida's grasp, raising it high over your head and slamming it down on the valve head with a merciless  _crack_.  
  
For one, terrible moment nothing happens. Then the force flings you and Kida backwards into the kitchen, necks snapped back. A blaze of orange, the roar of a dragon and the tank takes flight.   
  
Mind hazy with smoke, you imagine the tank is a shooting star and make a single wish.  
  
There is a sickening  _squish_  as the tank burrows into Bear-zombie precisely where his kidneys would be if he had them, tossing out a chunk of flesh. The thing gives an unsightly bellow, spine flicking upright. It wavers once, twice before collapsing next to Shizuo.  
  
But down is not out.  
  
Finding its head next to Shizuo's ear, it fists Shizuo's collar, dragging him backwards into salivating jaws. Shizuo lashes out, digging his elbow into it as he's reeled in. You stammer out a warning but you are too far away--  
  
 _CLANG_  
  
Its skull implodes from the blow and Kida lets the scrap metal fall from his hands, shoulders sagging.  
  
Bear-zombie drops down for good.  
  
Shizuo rights himself, looking like an operating-table post-surgery. You take in the smears of blood and guts and everything that you'd never want to see at a sushi restaurant and your face pales.  
  
"Not mine," Shizuo assures you, hands held up defensively. You release a shaky breath and notice Kida watching Shizuo guardedly. It occurs to you that this is the first time Kida's seen the juggernaut up close.  
  
"So," Shizuo begins, wiping the blood off his lavender-tinted shades. "They ditched you, huh?"  
  
Kida glances away towards the destroyed door. "I, uh, let them go, actually," he confesses. "They'll keep Saki safe, so..."  
  
Shizuo informs Kida that he is, in fact, one crazy bastard. Kida has conflicting opinions about this assessment.  
  
"What was that about the quarantine?" You prompt.   
  
"Crazy bastard," repeats Shizuo.  
  
"Ah right, almost forgot. They're shuttling uninflected survivors out of certain points of the city, the metro station being one of them. They'll shut it down at midnight, when the quarantine officially starts. We were just heading down there when we spotted you guys."  
  
You look at Shizuo, eyes pleading.  
  
Slipping on his shades, he turns his back to you. "Look, we're square, alright? You don't need to stay here," he mutters. "I'm not leaving without my little brother."  
  
Any elation from having defeated Bear-zombie evaporates; you deflate like a balloon. Your choice is painfully obvious. The metro station is not three blocks down from here. You and Kida could easily make it. Board a nice, clean train, relax of supple seats and put this nightmare far behind you.  
  
Perhaps you'd be out of the zombie's grasp by then, but you'd be haunted by something else.  
  
"Kida, I--"  
  
"Actually I'm thinking of staying," Kida says evenly, ringing his fingers through his belt loops. "Fifteen minutes left, we'd never make it in these conditions anyway."  
  
Well if you can't be relieved, then maybe you can try for wary contentment.  
  
" **Crazy bastards!** " Shizuo calls out, marching off. Maybe it's the smoke talking, but you swear his voice sounds lighter than it has all evening.


	4. In the Narrows

Kida arms himself with an assortment of cutlery. You opt for a black steel frying pan, a thick carving knife and conceal a small knife in your apron. Shizuo decides on his fists, only taking a crowbar after much pestering courtesy of you and Kida.

Kida and Shizuo attempt to put out the fires as a favor to a guy named Simon, apparently Bear-zombie's human identity prior to the outbreak. The fires have swollen, swallowing the kitchen and creeping further into the restaurant. While they work, you nab a forgotten tote bag and begin stuffing it with whatever non-perishables and water bottles you can find. It's clear that you three won't be going on a shopping run for a while now.

Unbidden, a memory of you Kida and Mikado surfaces-- you and Mikado shrieking for dear life in a shopping cart as Kida whirled you around the store in a game of psycho bumper cars. If memory serves, Kida won. You don't know if it can really be called it a memory at only two weeks old, but it feels faraway enough.

Once you're all set, you three regroup in the foyer. It's a miracle the Feeders- that was Kida's invention-- haven't descended on you yet but you need no convincing to know that they are coming.

"We need to find shelter," you declare. "We're not going to get much done when we're this exhausted anyways."

"The backkways behind the restaurant lead to a few apartment complexes," Kida suggests.

He wants to take the shadowy but less trafficked alleys, you contend for the well-lit but populated main-streets. Shizuo wants the quickest route. The odds are against you and Kida wins out.

The three of you set out just as guttural moans start building up from the front of Russian Sushi. Kida knows this area better than either of you, navigating the knotted alleys with the acumen of a mapmaker while Shizuo picks up the rear. You struggle to match Kida's pace; by the time you manage to round a corner he is already slipping behind another one. Shizuo isn't faring much better, stumbling after you in loud, thundering steps. You split your attention keeping tabs not he two blondes, terrified that the next time you turn around one of them will have disappeared permanently. Here, the hazy orange glow of the street lamps cannot reach you, leaving only slivers of moonlight peeking through the crevices between buildings. You wait patiently for your eyes to adjust to the darkness but they never completely do; groping around blindly like this petrified you, goes against your very nature. You imagine there is movement in the darkness. Muscles taught, you brace yourself for them to dive at you from any angle. Any minute now, you'll feel fangs sinking into your shoulder, nails digging across your ankle and you'll scream and scream for Shizuo and Kida but it'll be too late.

Kida ducks behind a dumpster and you crouch behind him, pinching Shizuo's sleeve before he totters past. You release a breath you hadn't realized you were holding. "Okay, so to the left we have a building where some of the more well-to-do students used to stay. It should be clean and it's in a great location, halfway between the city center and the perimeter."

"Does it come in green?" Shizuo snorts in derision. "What are you, a real estate agent? We just need someplace to crash for the night!" He storms out from your hiding spot behind the dumpster (it wasn't really hiding much of him anyways) and heads towards the cream building up ahead. It looks to be about eights stories up. Shizuo leaps onto the fire escape before kicking down the swing ladder for your shorter beings. It tumbles down the track before clattering to a halt. You and Kida emerge from behind the dumpster like mice searching for a stalking cat, urging Shizuo to keep it down.

In response, he takes the stairs four at a time, each step bouncing around the alleys with a _CLANG_.

"Go ahead and let the punks try something!" He yells and you two scramble after him. As fast as you can, you pull up the swing ladder. You're not yet sure of the specs of the Feeders' physical abilities and you don't want to discover that they can climb when they break down your door.

When you reach the topmost landing, you find Kida discouraging Shizuo from wrenching the door off its hinges.

"It's locked from the outside," Kida explains to you. "Safety measure against burglars."

The guys step aside, allowing you to inspect the entrance. It's a heavy, red emergency door with a small, thick-pained window up top--

You have no time to move out of the way of the door's arc, so you are slammed against the railing, metal bars clashing against your spine. Shizuo is knocked down, pushing Kida is a small ways down the stairs. Frenzied shouts rake against your ears but your world is spinning; you can do little but watch the holes in the metal grating under you sway dance.

Snarling, two Feeders have stumbled forth and are dog-piling onto Shizuo. He jams his fist into the closest one's throat, driving its gnashing jaws away. A third is staggering towards your exposed ankle, popping out from behind the door. It fumbles, foot slipping off the landing and Kida exploits it's momentum to chuck it off the side of the fire escape. Gritting his teeth, Shizuo seizes the remaining two Feeders by their throats and hauls them off of him, careful to avoid their teeth. With a grunt, he flings them down atop the first Feeder and they pile with a _splat_. A heartwarming art-deco piece for your new home. Shizuo and Kida scope out the nearest apartment. You watch the Feeder pile for any signs of movement for three full minutes before slipping inside.

They've chosen a wholesome, lovingly decorated flat, something out of a Pottery Barn catalogue, ruined only by the number of rooms. Whatever, let the guys duke it out. Your worn, and you just want your own place to crash on, even if that means the couch.

Shizuo refuses to compromise. Shrimpy over here--Kida objects-- can't take the couch because he can't handle the Feeders--again, Kida objects-- and there is no way in high heaven Shizuo is letting _a girl_ sleep on an uncomfortable couch. You and Kida protest with him; he needs a bed, he is in the worst shape out of all of you and getting a good night's rest will ensure exceptional Feeder dispatching performance tomorrow. It goes pretty much like two Toy Poodles yapping at a German Shepherd, with Shizuo rubbing his temples as you two rant. By means of an answer, he waves his hand in Kida's face and shoves you into the master bedroom.

Just as Shizuo is about to close the door behind him, you latch onto his wrist.  
"Let's get you patched up."

Eyes guarded, he consents with a curt nod. It takes some time to locate a medical kit, tucked away in the bottom drawer of the bathroom. Perhaps they were right when they mixed it up for a nurse costume.

You start in shock when he rolls up his sleeves; it's the first time you've gotten a close look. His arms form a masterpiece experimenting in shades of red. The skin is inflamed, rising up in bloated, angry knots. It's the lacerations that scare you the most, the skin peeling off his knuckles from incessant battery. Dropping onto the bed, he bides his time staring blankly out the window being you. The way his mussed blonde hair falls over his eyes is almost endearing, you think. Collar ripped up, dust on his cheek, the posterchild for a crime blockbuster. If it wasn't for his short fuse, he could get far on those rugged looks.

"You believe in heaven?"

The question confronts you massage the antibiotic across his hands, trailing your fingertips atop the cuts. Shizuo doesn't really seem like one to wax philosophical, and he's not nearly as subtle as Izaya. He's getting at something.

"More or less," you murmur, eyeing him as you trace the webs between his fingers.

"Awfully nice of you then, risking your neck for somebody you don't event know." It is not a compliment.

Your hands still. "Would you rather I left with Kida when I had the chance?"

Shizuo leans forward, elbows braced on his knees, as if you won't hear him if he's any further. Hazel eyes bore at you through lavender shades. 

"Yes," he answers simply.

You surprise yourself with how much the word stings, watching numbly as he wraps his hands.

"You trying to force yourself in here, but you'll only slow us down," he continues, impervious. "Come dawn, we're escorting you to the perimeter."

Standing up, he lingers for a moment, then two, as if wavering over how to end this exchange. A million retorts buzz around in your mind like hornets but you're too furious to think clearly. Something along the lines of **_propane tank_** and **_my idea_**. You take matters into your own hands when you slam the kit closed and stalk off to the bathroom.

All things considered, you should be elated. What most people wouldn't give to have the strongest man in Ikebukuro escort them to safety amidst the zombie apocalypse. But what then? Go back to a backwater town where milk delivery is the biggest spectacle? To a life of prep courses and piano recitals and four o clock curfews? You have no home, you realize. Too much a prude for the Ikebukurians and too much a rebel for your native Taikutsuna.

Quiet chatter from the living room snags your attention. Quietly, you press the drawer in and strain your ears.

"Flea would know," Shizuo mutters, collapsing on the couch. Kida presses him for answers but Shizuo's out like a light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Izaya returns to wreak havoc and generally be a jerk next chapter :3


	5. In the Spider's Web

**Directions** : Children 12 years old and under - Consult a doctor about use. Adults Take 30 milliliters every 12 hours. **DO NOT EXCEED 60 milliliters IN 24 HOURS.**  

 

If you were to rank yourself as a person on a scale of 1 to 10, you'd give yourself a 7. You have good intentions, you're generally an amicable person. There was that homeless person you bought a burger for one time. But those past good deeds seem to wane in comparison; you don't think you've ever done something this terrible.

Half sleep-deprived, half-delirious you stumble through the streets. It's starting to rain, and if you don't hurry, the blood will be all wiped off.

* * *

**39 MINUTES EARLIER**

 

Under the flashlight, you fix two glasses of tea. Well, they're more liked cracked mugs but it's all you have at your disposal. The perfectionist in you winces. As quickly as you can without sloshing the tea, you tiptoe past a snoring Shizuo and make your way to Kida's room.

"Served by a beautiful woman? My lucky day!" Kida croons, dazzling you with his pearly whites.

"Oh, Kida darling," you singsong back as you kick the door closed, "how come you're never this fresh when Shizuo's awake?"

Kida smirks. "Don't want him to feel jealous of mah suave moves ," he slurs, waggling his eyebrows.

You snort in derision. "The vampire costume is getting to your head; I'm not really a Twilight kinda girl."

"You're also not as persuasive as Flo the salesgirl," he retorts, winking. Turning politely to the side, he takes out his vampire teeth, before raising the cup to his lips. This makes you feel like you should shed your costume too; indulging in Halloween shenanigans seems faraway now, somehow childish. You opt to unclip your "Hi I'm Flo! :) " name tag.

The two of you had managed to find a working printer in his room, from which you produced maps of the city (while doing your best to ignore the desktop background image of a smiling couple. They looked unnervingly similar to two of the Feeders you dispatched on the fire escape. You can't help but wonder who the third was. Neighbor? Long-distance relative?)

"So, where are we, exactly?" you ask, peering over windswept blonde hair. Kida has surprisingly accurate spatial reasoning; you want to tell him but you know exactly where he'll take that remark. You smile softly; if you had to slog through this with anyone, Shizuo and Kida certainly make excellent suffer-buddies.

"Here!" He notches a red 'X' onto what appears to be yet another bland square.

"And where is Izaya's apartment?"

"There; about a fifteen minute walk," he responds, yawning. "Of course, that's assuming normal conditions..."

Finding Izaya was Kida's brainchild; you may or may not have encouraged it with some prompting. While Shizuo might be willing and able to rip every skyscraper in Ikebukuro from its foundations to find his brother, you had much different plans. More _practical_ plans. Plans that would actually find Kasuka like aimless searching would not. You'd make yourself indispensable to them; Shizuo would see. 

And a morally ambiguous information broker is your best bet.

"Maybe we should try to outline a few different routes," you suggest, watching him. "In case one is blocked or overrun."

"Mmmhmmm," Kida murmurs, resting his head on his arm as he scratches out three secondary routes. "Ugh, I've got the worse headache..."

"You're telling me!" Your laughter sounds high-pitched, a little forced. He doesn't seem to notice. Shizuo continues snoring lightly in the background.

"There we go, all done." Kida autographs his masterpiece with flourish-- or at least, that's what it must look like to his half-closed eyes. It's more of a scribble, to be honest, but he's too tired to care.

**Not you.**

You're painfully awake, strung out on adrenaline.

"So, we go first thing in the morning?"

"Yep!" You don't even need to fake the yawn, so straining is your exhaustion, but your nerves are keeping you attentive. "Better get some rest!"

"Alrighty then..." Kida mumbles to the desk. "Need me to walk you to your room?"

He couldn't have heard your answer, even if you had given one. Delicately, you edge the map out from under his head, replacing it with a pillow. Glancing at his sleeping bliss nearly makes the guilt overwhelm you, but you only gave him half the does anyhow. He probably thought the weird taste was honey.

It takes a little jimmying to open the window of the master bedroom. The blast of cold air that greets you undermines your conviction. You don't give yourself long to think about it. Instead, you don your jacket and slip a rubber eraser in the window pane to hold it open for when you return.

**_When_** not **_if_**.

Climbing out onto the ledge, you inch your way towards the fire escape. Eight stories above the ground, the wind is biting your cheeks and whipping your hair. You try not to focus on how much it would hurt to plummet into the cement below like those Feeders. In your mind's eye, you are Jason Bourne from that one movie about him kicking ass and taking names. The one with lots of choreographed punches in it. You jump down lightly on the landing, creeping down the stairs. 

At the last landing, you make your way to the edge. Too high to jump down-- for you, anyways. Crouching, you fiddle with the swinging ladder, struggling to unlock the sliding mechanism. It takes a decent amount of elbow grease, but you manage to pry it loose. You seize it out of the air, lowering it slowly before it has a chance to rat tat tat all the way down.

It's when your foot is on the second rung before the last that you hear it-- footsteps shuffling on the pavement. The sound is off, like the culprit is limping. Suddenly a hand snatches at your back. 

Your blood freezes. 

Heart leaping to your throat, you bite your scream, releasing an awkward gurgle. Without thinking, you turn swing to the side and sink your heel into its chin. The Feeder goes staggering back, but it's too late. The momentum is too much for you and you tumble forward, arms flailing. Your ankle hitches on the rung, leaving you dangling in midair, hands scrabbling desperately as the world bobs up and down.  

_ohcrudohcrudohcrudohcrud_

Snarling, it gears for a second attack, moving towards your now exposed back.

This is it. You're completely vulnerable and your predator is readying to pounce. This is your comeuppance, the sun melting your wax wings for daring to fly too high. You can scream all you'd like, but Kida's too addled on sleep medication to hear you. Shizuo will never get to you in time. 

Movement echoes in the alleyways ahead of you.

You thrash around like a rabbit caught in a snare. Pulsing your body upwards, you kick your leg free and fall flat on your stomach. It misses by centimeters, passing closely enough that you could smell its rancid breath. Pushing off the concrete, you sprint forward. It's the wet blood that gets you, twisting your foothold and sending you flying onto the pile of dispatched Feeders you dumped from the fire escape.

You're not breathing; that much is clear from the black spots popping in your vision. You're hyperventilating, clawing madly to drag yourself out of the pits of rotting flesh you've found yourself in.

The Feeder shambles towards you and collapses at your feet, clammy hands descending on your ankles. You allow yourself to scream, piercing the still night air and kicking so hard the Feeder jiggles--

But not quite hard enough to let it go.

Attracted by the ruckus, the second appears in full view and tears stream down your face. You have vastly overestimated your stealth and cunning, too caught up with ridiculous ideals that you could never fulfill. You should have just jumped in the damn van when you had the chance, instead of following Shizuo on this inane suicide mission. Maybe then you and Kida would be on a train out of this hellhole, instead of meeting your doom in a dark alley or drugged to sleep in a barricaded apartment.

**The Feeders descend.**

You kick and scream and cry and plead; you are a one-girl-emotional circus but they don't let up. 

And then, through your hysterical sobs, you realize they're not actually biting you.

Maybe you're actually dreaming next to Kida, and this was just a nightmare induced by tonight or maybe you never really lived tonight at all and you're still sleeping in your Raira dorm room, but they're not biting. They're snouts and paws are all over you-- you refuse to give them the decency of human physiology, that's a prestige you cannot part with-- sniffing, padding along the length of you. They trace you like this from the tips of your hair to the edge of your elbow to the hollow of your ankles to the bottom of your toes. All the while, you sit stock-still, breath baited.

Inexplicably, they retreat, circling around you once, twice each time making the arc wider. Hollow black eyes glare at you suspiciously.

And then you realize that they never saw you. _**Smelt**_ , _**felt**_ but not _**saw**_. Smelt and felt the smears of flesh, the sludge of intestines covering your body.

Gagging, you realize what you need to do with nauseating clarity. Taking a deep breath, you role around in the pile of death that used to be three Feedees, staining every inch of fabric that covers you with blood and guts. To be safe (what a joke! ), you dig through the pile and pull up a shattered fleece jacket tied along the waist of what you think was a male. Dunking it in and out of the pile, you wait until it's faded blue cloth morphs into a grainy red-brown until you slip it on over your own. The smell reaches down into the pit of your stomach and squeezes, bile launching up your throat.

Well, you didn't come this close to death for nothing. The Feeders are still within range, their attention loosely directed towards you. You decide to test your theory, padding towards them as quietly as possible. Their heads follow you, but they make no move. You feel their hollowed eyes piercing your back as you move and it takes every ounce of self-control you have not to dash away screaming. 

The shuffling starts up again.

Muscles taut, you ready yourself for the flesh to be ripped from your spine--

\--the bite never comes. The sound is receding, they're moving away, you realize and you reward yourself with a big gulp of air.

Pulling out Kida's map, you dive into the night. Thunder rumbles overhead, and if you have a shred of a chance at survival, you need to make it to Izaya's before the smell of blood washes off. 

 

* * *

 

This is the wrong apartment, you convince yourself. You are actually bleeding to death in that alley and this is a hallucination. You're actually insane. Maybe all three. 

Because you met little resistance as you made your way. A few curious stares, a snarl here and there. You are so bold as to imagine that they were greeting you, their fellow abomination.

Did you knock? You can't quite remember. You're exhausted and hungry and soaked and you smell like a butcher's backroom, probably look like one too. A few of them followed you into the foyer of the building, the scent must have been wearing off, but they couldn't figure out how to get past the door of the stairwell. Guess their intelligence varies.

You leap back when the door opens.

" _ **Helllooooooooo Nurse!!**_ " Izaya chirps, swinging the door wide open. You want to remind him that what you're wearing is, in fact, a 100% genuine Flo-the-Progressive-Insurance-Girl costume soaked with 100% genuine Feeder blood but you're too taken aback by his devil-may-care attitude to bother. You can't decide whether it's comforting or disturbing that, amidst all this chaos, Izaya is as obnoxious as ever. 

He peers down the hall, as if expecting your entourage but finds none. Outstretched arms welcome you into his humble abode. It's spartan and yet tasteful, meshing sleek metal with swarthy wood for an ambiance that exudes an effortless chic. His place is surprisingly simple, far more elegant than you would have predicted for a guy traipsing around in a fur coat. You expect to hear cool lounge music floating through the air any second now. 

You wipe your blood-soaked sneakers on the mat, and Izaya appreciates this. To thank you, he gives you fresh clothes and demands you change. When you emerge in Izaya-hand-me-downs (purple v-neck, Namie's spare jeans, and some girl's leather jacket) he directs you through the foyer and to his desk, which stands before an enormous twelve-foot window surveying downtown Ikebukuro. Orange streetlamps pierce through the darkness like fireflies, joined by the reds and greens of blinking neon advertisements. The masses swirl below like marching ants. From this lofty place in the clouds, you can almost fool yourself into thinking that nothing is amiss down below. 

Izaya emerges from the kitchen with a tray bearing two cups of tea as you drop into a chair. Quite the gracious host! Tea should be the last thing you want to see right now but you're chilled to the bone. Also, propriety. You move to take a cup but he wordlessly walks past you, settling down at his desk. Slackjawed, you stare at him, thinking perhaps he forgot you were here. Did he seriously just pour two cups of tea for himself while excluding you? I mean, it's not like you really expected Izaya to be the poster-child of decorum, but this...?

He carries on like this, working on his tea in quiet sips while you stare wide-eyed. It takes five solid minutes before he dissolves into sharp peals of laughter and gives you a lecture on the perils of presumption. Only when he is satisfied that you understand how stupid you looked does he reward you with the second cup of tea.

"So to what do I owe this pleasure?" Izaya asks, returning his attention to his laptop. His workspace is surrounded by top-notch surveillance technology, likely military-grade and even likelier illegal. It goes completely against nature that someone so young can afford to lounge around in a hub of state-of-the-art equipment but here he stands. You imagine it sort of looks like a spaceship, manned by a sociopath. 

"Well...," you begin, and you cannot suppress a mental Houston, we have a problem, but that's probably just one of the side-effects of sharing Izaya's company. But then you come up short. There are black dufflebags, stacked neatly one atop the other, by the side of his chair. 

Four of them.

Faster than you thought you could move, you dart to the side and snatch his laptop off of the desk.

" **You knew** ," you snarl. 

He leans back in his leather chair, stretching like a cat. "It's my job to know," he responds, yawning. 

"You knew about all of this and you didn't even warn us!" You screech, dangling his laptop behind you like a hostage. "We could have DIED out there--"

"You could have died yesterday just as easily," he returns, eyes flicking to the door.

"That's not the point," you hiss, reminding yourself to keep your voice down. " _You selfish slimeball!!_ "

At this term of endearment, he grins wickedly. "Did I ever pretend otherwise?"

You have half a mind to chuck his laptop out the window, but rapidly-deteriorating sanity urges you to reconsider. If it's the only thing Izaya was focusing on prior to leaving his apartment, it has to have something important stored on it. Potentially a backup of his contracts, assets and targets, which could lead you to Kasuka, among other things. City blueprints, escape routes, the possibilities are _endless_. Even, potentially your father. You try your best not to hope too strongly.

"Bull-chan," he says calmly, sliding out of his chair "I'm going to need you to hand that over, please."

**_"Like hell!"_ **

Is what you would have said if he hadn't moved like lightening. In one swift motion, Izaya knocks the back of your knees, seizes the laptop out of the air and deposits his prize safely on the desk. All you can process is that one second you are glaring daggers at him and the next you are face first on the floor, making this the third time you've hit your head this evening. Your headache flares back up full-force and you lay there dazed.

You hear a drawer opening before dark leather boots come padding into view. You move to roll out of the way but Izaya slams a knee decisively into your back, pinning you down. Pressing his weight into you, Izaya binds your wrists with coiled wire as quickly as your thrashing will allow. 

"Easy, easy Bull-chan," he coos, putting the finishing touches on the knot. "Don't want to chafe your wrists, now do you?"

You snarl and inform him what else will chafe if he doesn't let you go, but he only laughs and ruffles your hair like _Aw, what a cute little hogtied spaz_. In a businesslike manner, he dusts his hands off and returns to checking his laptop. You sneak a glance at the monitor and promptly resume shrieking at him.

He's playing _Minesweeper_.

_As the world is ending._

Amidst your screaming, you don't hear the growing footsteps coming up the stairwell.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus points if anyone can tell me where "Hello Nurse" is from >:)


End file.
